


The 36 Questions

by arcadianambivalence



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 36 questions, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Jon and Sansa Are Not Related, Mentions of past abuse, rating will go up in the future
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-20
Updated: 2017-03-20
Packaged: 2018-10-08 11:07:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10385310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arcadianambivalence/pseuds/arcadianambivalence
Summary: They drifted off topic, they drifted into small talk, they teased each other and marveled over the food, and the longer they spoke, the more Sansa grew used to the hammer of her heart...Jon and Sansa are on a date and decide to try the 36 Questions to Fall in Love.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For anyone unfamiliar with the 36 questions, two partners ask each other three sets of personal questions, then stare into each other's eyes for four minutes.

 

            Sansa pushed her phone across the table and tried to hide a shiver. She glanced away for a moment before daring to meet his eyes.

            “Ready?” she asked.

            He nodded.

            “Okay. First question: Given the choice of anyone in the world, whom would you want as a dinner guest?”

            His eyebrows creased together. “That’s an odd question.”

            “It’s what it says here. Look.” She pushed the phone over to Jon’s side of the table. He turned the phone and stared at it with another crease forming in his forehead.

            “Are all questions going to be like this?”

            Sansa shrugged. In truth, she had only glanced at the list of thirty-six questions circling the Internet. Most questions seemed easy enough. _What would constitute a “perfect” day for you? What is your most treasured memory? What is the greatest accomplishment of your life?_

            Other questions were supposed to be more probing. _What is your most terrible memory? Do you have a secret hunch about how you will die? How do you feel about your relationship with your mother?_ Not that the last one would be too bad for her, but Sansa knew enough about Jon that this question could make him uneasy.

            But he had agreed to try the questionnaire with her, so it couldn’t do too much damage, right?

            Across from her, Jon looked up from her phone. “I’d have to say...someone who knows how to cook, because I don’t.” He grinned.

            She tossed her hair over her shoulder and affected a hauty posture. “Well, I’d have to say my brother.”

            “That narrows it down. You have five of them.”

            “Three.” She took a sip of her drink. “And I meant my little brother, Bran. I haven’t seem him in ages.”

            He smiled down at the basket of salted chips before leaning over her phone. “My turn, then. Would you like to be famous, and in what way?”

            She mused. “When I was little, I wanted to be a famous singer, then an actress, then a fashion designer. What about you?”

            He kept his eyes on the basket of chips. “I used to want to play football...or lacrosse. But now I don’t want to be famous. It seems like it would get in the way of everything.”

            She nodded and reached out to grab a chip. His gaze followed her hand as she took a bite of the chip. She caught a ghost of a smile before he looked away again.

            So they spent the next thirty minutes asking and answering the first set of questions about themselves over chips, then dinner. Sansa had never been to this restaurant before. At first she thought it was a bit dark and worried that the food would be messy, but she was starting to like it the longer she stayed there. Even the foot wasn’t so bad, either. Although she did have to remind herself not to be so self-conscious about how she looked as she ate.

            To be honest, the place felt a little like stepping back in time. The speakers played power ballads and cheesy love songs from the 80’s, and for a moment, she wondered if her parents heard some of the same songs when they began dating—not that she would consider her situation with Jon _dating,_ per se. Not yet, at least.

            _But it could be,_ she found herself thinking more often than not. He didn’t tease her for her response to the question about when was the last time she sang to herself, and she replied that she sang to the radio in her car on the way to the restaurant.

            And when they reached the questions about dying, he noticed how she braced herself before responding.

            “I used to have this nightmare, this horrible feeling, really, of being attacked by a mob.” She played with the saltshaker to steady her hand. Her stomach tightened. It wouldn’t be fair to ask these questions and not be honest, she told herself. “But I used to date this guy...” she waited for him to suck in his breath or lean back in his chair as if she were contagious the way the few others had when she dared to tell them about her baggage. But he never did. She swallowed and continued, “...and, I don’t know, I thought for a time that it...” She shut her eyes, “that it might be him.”

            Something warm rested on her hand. She opened her eyes and saw Jon leaning across the table, his hand gently draped around hers and the saltshaker.

            Something else tightened in her chest, but it wasn’t her stomach. She didn’t mean to, but she found herself telling him everything about the restraining order and the trial and how she moved back North to leave that part of her life behind. All the while, he kept his hand loosely around hers. Occasionally, his thumb stroked the backs of her fingers, even as her hand slid down from the saltshaker to rest on the table.

            She shivered again, looked at her phone, and purposefully slid her hand out from under his. But she kept her hand near his, just in case he wanted to touch her again.

            “Okay. Next question,” she forcibly exhaled. “Name three things you and your partner appear to have in common. That’s easy. We’re both from the North. We’re both interested in history.” She forced herself to smile and make a joke. “And apparently, we both rehearse what to say before making phone calls, thanks to question three.”

            She saw a hint of a smile in his otherwise concerned face. It felt good to know that he cared, but she had grown to hate the pitying stares most people would give her when she alluded to her ex.

            “Your turn.”

            He pretended to study her a moment. “We both love music. We like chips.”

            “Chip thief,” she teased.

            He smiled. “And we’re both fans of old...”

            She could see his lips start to form the word _Romances_ before stopping himself. She almost made to tease him before she caught him glancing at her lips.

            “Old stories,” he finished with a shrug.

            Soon, their fingers brushed at the bottom of the empty basket of chips. The condensation from their drinks pooled on the table like wax gathering along waning candles. They drifted off topic, they drifted into small talk, they teased each other and marveled over the food, and the longer they spoke, the more Sansa grew used to the hammer of her heart.

            That was until...

            “Next question. If you could wake up tomorrow having gained any one quality or ability, what would it be?”

            She felt herself sliding off into the past again. Sansa wanted to lie or say something dull to avoid the truth, but she agreed to be honest, and he had been gentle so far.

            “Sometimes, I wish I could go back and change everything.”

            “Me, too,” he sighed. She felt the weight of the world in his sigh.

            She wet her lips and forced herself to say it. “But then...I wouldn’t be...here.”

            His eyes swept up to hers and their hands found each other.

            Not for the first time, she wanted to be back in her apartment with him. She wanted to trace him with her fingers. He would be gentle, she thought. It would be good to be with him. It would be good for both of them.

            With a start, she realized she had been staring at his lips and looked away. She blushed.

            Before they knew it, the restaurant had filled and emptied with another wave of customers, the waiter refilled their drinks for a second time, and the overhead lights brightened after the sun set.

            When he excused himself for a moment, Sansa leaned back in her chair and collected herself. Her first instinct was to cover her face and laugh like a girl with a crush. Her second was to see where this went.

**Author's Note:**

> It's been awhile, hasn't it?
> 
> I meant to upload this to help the Jonsa fans reach 2,000 fics, but it appears we've surpassed 2K overnight!
> 
> \--
> 
> I was inspired by this essay:  
> https://www.nytimes.com/2015/01/11/fashion/modern-love-to-fall-in-love-with-anyone-do-this.html
> 
> The NPR/WBUR podcast Modern Love has a reading of this essay available on youtube and on the official website:  
> http://www.wbur.org/modernlove


End file.
